To My Mother On Her

86th Birthday

By Joan Berquist

Every time we visit her … she’s sleeping

I want to shout … hey … wake up Mom

It’s me, your older daughter, Joan

But … I don’t … I let her sleep

Finally, frustrated, fragmented, I gently touch her arm

She opens eyes reluctantly

And do I see a spark of recognition

Or, do I see only what I want to see

Now I have my cue – I go into my act – incessantly I chat

“How are you Mom? Traffic was light – I brought some candy and

Ice cream – your room looks nice – you got a lot of cards –

That amaryllis on the ledge looks great!”

But Sleeping Beauty only nods

There are esoteric names for scenes like these:

Dementia, senility, hardening of the arteries, Alzheimer’s

What do they all mean?

 

I feed her lunch … she eats it all

I laugh and joke … to keep my spirits up

“We haven’t lost our appetite … now have we, Mom?”

Mind might dim … but body’s in full swing

 

She looks just like the Queen of Sheba – reclining on her chaise

She doesn’t talk all afternoon – it’s finally time to leave

I linger, pause and hesitate – and with forced cheerfulness

Expound, “I have to go – but I’ll be back.”

She looks at me – she really looks

And loud and clear

Enunciates,

“I love you.”